


505 (what you wrote for me)

by bluesunberries



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: 505 by the Arctic Monkeys references, 505 just fits with sakuastu, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Minor Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Minor Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu, cursing and somewhat suggestive content, homophobic parents, oikawa if you squint, other people too that are mentioned once, yeah this song made me cry and now im making people cry too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:54:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28376544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluesunberries/pseuds/bluesunberries
Summary: Miya Atsumu is a bassist, never noticed and never complimented. And for some reason that works, because he's okay with being in the shadows and giving the spotlight to Hinata and his other bandmates.But he isn't okay being invisible to Sakusa Kiyoomi, a successful musician in a growing band that happens to, one day, play in a bar near Atsumu's college that he just happens to be in.He's everything Atsumu isn't, and there's something so alluring, because he's so, so, damn pretty.And just like that, he fell.(Or, how Atsumu feel for Sakusa, and they became a tragic love story)
Relationships: Miya Atsumu & Sakusa Kiyoomi, Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 11
Kudos: 78





	505 (what you wrote for me)

**Author's Note:**

> just so the readers out there know, there is cursing, including the f word on several occasions. there are also mentions of alcohol, and getting drunk, mostly only in the beginning. there are also homophobic parent references. also an implied sex scene, but never goes into detail because i'm not into writing that stuff. i put the warnings in the tags, but ao3 doesn't have warnings like that...
> 
> i've never written sakuatsu before, i'm a hard core iwaoi writer, so this took forever because i couldn't figure out how the characters thought. i hope that you guys enjoy this!

**Atsumu**

It only took a few drinks and a half an hour’s worth of live music for Atsumu to get drunk.

Nonsense talking, grinding on strangers, taking an unsafe amount of tequila shots drunk.

He felt so euphoric, so damn free from life’s disappointments that he just kept going, kept pouring that liquid courage down his throat till it burned irreparable holes in the lining of his stomach. It felt too good to stop, too right to finish.

The band that was playing in the bar that night was filling the crowded space with the guitar chords that described life’s sweet melodies and drums that rocked oceans, and Atsumu felt on top of the world. It would take next to nothing for him to get high off of the feeling he felt right now, to stay here forever and drink in the sounds of night life as eagerly as he downed those shots. He couldn’t have been the only one either, from the way that the woman he had no recollection of meeting was dancing with him and the way his night friends were whooping and hollering with intensity and pure childish excitement. The sea of people that fit in this tiny bar was feeling it, the same drug that Atsumu was ingesting, a collective high that was circling and prolonging the night in all the best ways.

The sweat slid down his chest in suggestive manners, the black and silver piercings spiraled along his cartilage of his ear flashed in the dim, red lights, the lightness in his limbs that he knew was only the product of his obsessive drinking that night, that was it. That was the night that Atsumu needed to feel alive again, and for more than a meager minute all his worries evaded him and kept themselves at bay.

“Atsumu, I’m going to grab more drinks, what do you want?” Hinata shouted in his ear, his voice struggling to be heard among the masses. But Atsumu could hear him just fine, and was more than overjoyed that his friend was asking about something he feels more than a need for.

“I’ll come with you!” Atusmu yelled back, detaching himself from the heat of the crowd and weaving through the sea, letting Hinata’s distinct orange hair and warm hand lead him. It was a give and take tonight, moving back to the bar for more drinks, and Atsumu was more than willing to give up the rigidity he had felt before and blend into the crowd to satisfy himself further.

The seats were empty, vacated by the dancers who abandoned them. Atsumu’s tired feet were more than grateful for the break, weighed down by the combat boots he was wearing, soaked through and heavy with all of the alcohol that he had presperated out of his system. He quickly ordered a drink, a simple rum and tonic, and drank the glass in one go.

Hinata laughed, calmly sipping his sugary blended drink that in no way matched the ripped black skinny jeans, converse, and gray half tucked button up shirt he was wearing, but matched his personality with uncanny accuracy.

Hinata was the guitarist and vocalist for their band, which they are currently unknown and unnamed for the curse of their indecisiveness, and played with Atsumu. Atsumu himself was a bassist, and was, in a strange way, okay with being the background and was more than happy to allow Hinata to enjoy the spotlight.

They were paired in a dorm room together in college, and immediately found solace in their shared passion for music. Throughout their college years, they met Oikawa and Bokuto, a pianist and drummer that were more than overjoyed to play in their band. Together they stayed, eventually getting their own apartment to share and spending their nights going to bars as a part of their “research”. But some nights, they only went to get shit faced.

That’s exactly what had happened on this particular excursion. They had just survived a week of stressful exams, and all of them were more than excited at the prospect of avoiding responsibilities as a way to celebrate. Glancing over the crowd, Atsumu found Oikawa serenading a girl in the corner, as per usual, and Bokuto on the front lines of the crowd, clumsy and often incorrect in his reciting of the lyrics, but the singer continued as if he wasn’t there.

The singer.

Oh boy, the more Atsumu looked at the lead vocalist, the more gorgeous he looked by the second.

“Oh, that’s Sakusa, the lead vocalist. He’s really pretty, isn’t he?” Hinata said.

“Not as pretty as you, though,” Atsumu laughed, kissing Hinata’s cheek and wrapping an arm around his shoulder. In a way, he was correct, Hinata was pretty, inside and out. Atsumu should know, they had been best friends for two years. But this guy was drop dead gorgeous, and not even Hinata could surpass that.

“Atsumu, you flatter me too much,” Hinata giggled into his glass, cheeks dusted with a heavy blush. He does this everytime Atsumu gets too flirty, which happens more often in the presence of alcohol.

But Atsumu lingers too long on Sakusa before looking at Hinata, and the silence between them falls. Atsumu gives Hinata a huge smile, and whisks himself away to the dance floor, not without brushing his lips against the red head’s ear and whispering, “You do look gorgeous tonight.”

Atsumu spends the rest of the night losing himself, forgetting that tension between the two of them and the wanting he seems to feel around Sakusa. It’s so strange, never had he ever been attracted to somebody completely based on looks, to the point where he thought that he was destined to a long and lonely life. Not willing to take the next step of giving himself whatever label he could give himself, but damn close, too isolated from his feelings of desire that none of that seemed to matter.

 _So explain to me_ , Atsumu thought to himself, _why my stomach flutters every time I look at him?_

* * *

The next morning, Atsumu is risen by his blistering headache and the explosive vomit that pours from his mouth onto the floor next to his bed. He had no intentions of getting as drunk as he did, but it seems that the night had other plans, and now Atsumu is left to pick up the pieces. Parts of him wished that he wasn’t that irresponsible the night before, because he remembered almost none of the night before. All of it was a blur, except for Sakusa.

Sakusa was so bright and vivid in his mind, it was scary. He got blackout drunk, can’t even remember how he changed in his pajamas, or who tucked him into the bed on his side so he wouldn’t choke on his vomit, but he can remember a boy he hadn’t even met. The moles were so starkly dark on his porcelain skin, his rich night sky hair curled and untamed, his voice ringing through the crowds and engraved in his mind. He was so goddamn _gorgeous_.

For everything that went right, now he’s scrubbing the carpet clean and shoving his sheets into the washing machine all from one night.

Cursing himself, Atsumu swears that the nights he spends out are never worth the day after, that he vows to never, ever take another shot or drink in his life.

He knows that’s a shit lie though.

The smell of bacon lures him to the kitchen, and the sound of irritated voices. He finds Oikawa, head in his hands and practically falling asleep on his plate while Hinata tries to coax him to eat more than the tiny sliver of egg that had disappeared in the brunette’s stomach. It was probably hurled from his stomach seconds after he ate it, but that doesn’t draw his attention. It’s the hickies that sprinkle his throat, and how in the seconds that he saw them, he imagined Sakusa making those marks on his skin.

 _God_ , he needed some real help.

Bokuto, on the other hand, was practically inhaling his eggs, bacon, and toasting himself 6 pieces of white bread while simultaneously running around the kitchen searching for the jelly and peanut butter with the fervor of a desperate, starved man. How the hell he could fit that much food in his stomach with a hangover was unthinkable to Atsumu, and he decided to let Bokuto go through his aftercare routine of eating a buffet’s worth of food, only to promptly puke all of it up in the next hour, and repeating. He says that it cleanses his system of all the alcohol he consumes, and Atsumu says that he’s wasting the hard earned money that he used to pay for that food that’s being eaten.

Hinata seems to be the only one not affected, but in all honesty, the only thing he drank the night before was light alcohol dripped over glasses of sprite, sugary sweet and light on the tongue and mind. The amount of restraint he shows is probably due to the incurable sweet tooth he seemed to have. He tries to balance the consumption of addictive waste with a meal plan he created, only to still struggle to follow it. Holidays are the worst for him, when he overloads on so much candy that he’s so drunk on the sugar rush that it makes up for the rest of the nights he skips out on.

Atsumu prefers nothing, to let his stomach marinate in its toxins and his mind settle from its high. Filling a glass of water from the faucet, he sits on the table and admires the view, also dubbed the shit show splayed before him.

Oikawa glares at him. “What the hell are you looking at?”

“Ah, snappy. Bet the girls are chasing you just to have a piece of it,” Atsumu retorts with a smirk.

“Face it, you’re just jealous that you can’t get yourself a decent date.”

“I revel that girls don’t throw themselves at me without even knowing what I am.”

Bokuto slams the gajillion jars he’s holding on the table, silencing the both of them. “Face it, you both are lonely losers that can’t have a steady relationship if you tried.”

Oikawa grimly smiles, and says, “Like you could get a date, Bo-kun.”

“In fact, I did!” Bokuto grins like a child, the crumbs from his sandwich dusting his chin and jelly smearing his cheek. “A gorgeous raven asked for my number last night. His name’s Akaashi Keiji, the bassist for the band yesterday!”

That shut them right up. Between Oikawa’s prissiness and Atsumu’s endless fantasies of this crazy singer that he can’t get out of his mind, the both of them were bested.

Hinata stayed quiet, nibbling on his own eggs and silently listening. The three were forces to reckon with, and Atsumu speculates that Hinata has learned to take the backseat when conversations like this break out.

The rest of breakfast is quiet, minus the obnoxious chewing from Bokuto (who had already started eating a jar of pickles) and whining from Oikawa. Atsumu quietly drank his water, nursing it and his headache, while Hinata forced Oikawa to take at least a few bites.

Breakfasts like this had become commonplace, and now with the regular banter and skirmishes, it felt normal.

Atsumu stood up and placed his glass in the sink, convincing himself that he’d put it in the dishwasher later (though he knew he wouldn’t), and treaded up to his room.

Lightly closing the door, he opened his computer with one question on his mind, _Who the hell is Sakusa?_

It only took a quick search to find out just who this person is. A location and first name is apparently all that Google needs to find somebody, which is mildly concerning for many reasons but allowed him to satisfy his curiosity.

The band that he’s a part of is named the Arctic Monkeys. They had just released a huge album that has led to serious record deals and the promise of tours. Atsumu had no idea why they were playing in a rutty bar in the middle of a college town, but that’s the band’s decision, not his.

Sakusa’s given name is Kiyoomi, and he’s the same age as Atsumu, which kind of seems like a punch in the gut, because he’s more successful than he knew he would ever become with his band. But he’s gorgeous, so that must have earned him some brownie points. His instagram is filled with pictures of parties, drinking, beaches, and generally enjoying life like any man would if he had that kind of money and opportunity. But something looked superficial, out of place. Atsumu told himself he must be dreaming.

But that feeling never disappeared, especially when he watched some of the interviews he had gotten. He was super fidgety, and seemed to never get comfortable in his seat. He was charismatic and thoughtful, but something about him seemed scripted, like he was living in another’s body.

Atsumu sighed, and closed his computer. That was enough stalking for today, he shouldn’t get too all up in a random person’s business. But something was off about him, and it intrigued Atsumu. As he fell asleep, he wondered when he would get to see him again, and dreamed of playing music with him, their fingers in sync and their music as beautiful as his floppy hair and deep black eyes.

* * *

It only took one more week for Atsumu to see him again.

Same circumstances, same bar. _I wonder what about this bar is so attractive to him_ , Atsumu thought, drawn into the same old spiral he’s been immersed in for weeks. It’s enticing, it’s addicting, thinking of all the things that Sakusa could do to him.

It’s a destructive spiral too, as he notices when his female friend for the night walks away and Hinata is looking concerned at him. It distracts him from reality, but when he’s drunk and wasting his money for fake experiences that will give him no more shreds of actual, obtainable happiness, he couldn’t care less. That’s why he’s drowning in his own head, thinking of those beautiful locks, those bold moles, that entrancing voice… fuck, everything about Sakusa was too goddamn perfect.

He feels too euphoric thinking about him. This shouldn’t be right, it shouldn’t feel so fulfilling to think about somebody you’ve never met in person before, but his music tells Atsumu everything he needs to know. There’s a rawness to them, that if you listen carefully to some of the songs, you can hear the occasional voice crack of emotion. It’s painful, but it’s real, and for no reason it’s keeping him going more than he should in one night.

Maybe it’s the alcohol, or the serotonin that’s pulsing through his veins, that don’t notice when Hinata steps up behind him. He taps the blonde’s shoulder, and yells into his ear, “Atsumu, are you okay?”

“I’m more than okay!” Atsumu replies, the beer sloshing in his stomach and his eyes unfocused. “Dance with me!”

Hinata seems hesitant though, and approaches with caution. “Atsumu…”

Atsumu grabs Hinata’s hips, pulls their bodies close, and shouts into the crowd, “You get too timid when you’re drunk, come on, dance with me!”

“You’re too bold, somebody has to keep the peace.”

“What was that?” Atsumu teased, moving their bodies in tandem. “We only deal chaos in these parts, honey.”

The breath that brushed past Hinata’s ear was hot, he could tell from the goosebumps that rose on the other’s skin. It was strange, the way that control could change the dynamic between two people. Hinata started melting into Atsumu’s arms, swaying with the beats and allowing himself to get swept away in the flow of the crowd and the music that played oh so loudly, pounding in their ears to the point where they thought they would go deaf.

The night dragged, and two only got more immersed in each other’s embrace. When the songs started to slow and the crowd thinned, the more comfortable Hinata seemed to get, the more sensual he got with his movements. Maybe it was his new impaired bravery from the vodka shots that Atsumu had forced him to take minutes ago, or the tiredness that began to tellingly weigh on his mind, but there was no hiding it. If it wasn’t obvious before, it was when Hinata kissed him, and dragged him towards the door so they could escape the stuffiness and exchange it with the hominess of their apartment.

When the door closed behind the two, the distance between them did as well. It was all lips and teeth and tongue, it was so messy, so _desperate_. Part of Atsumu was telling him that the night was moving too fast, that the pacing was off, that this, this _thing_ between him and Hinata should not, under no circumstances, be happening. He ignored it however, in typical Miya style, and followed the other’s lead.

Hinata led Atsumu to his bedroom, and practically shoved him on the mattress. Hinata was everywhere, in his shirt that he was removing, in his hair that refused to be tamed, in the waistband of his jeans that were too tight for him to easily remove in his drunken state. This didn’t seem to bother him though, as they continued, skin to skin, chasing the high from the other only to increase their own when the spirits of the bar started fading and being replaced by a headache.

But no matter how good it felt, the thoughts stored at the back of Atsumu’s mind was telling him to stop, to stop before things got too complicated.

In the heat of the moment, Hinata’s words brushed past his ears so delicately, but the _I love you_ he whispered was intoxicating, so stabilizing in the sway of their movements.

He knew he was long gone.

* * *

Atsumu woke with the sun, when it shone through the blinds and demanded attention from him, attention that he didn’t want to give. His head was pounding to hard, his body was sore and sticky, and he was too wrapped in the warmth Hinata -

Shit, Hinata.

The memories of the night before flooded his head, and he suddenly woke up. _Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit…_ His mind was racing far too fast to fully evaluate what he was doing and where he wanted to go. He could hear the moans he gave, the creeks of the bed, the groans Hinata uttered into his ear. It was too overpowering, and he was trying to just hurry, just forget before the other remembered.

“Atsumu?”

He swore to God his heart stopped beating then and there. He slowly shifted his gaze to the other boy laying in his bed, bleary eyed and bare chested. Just the sight of his skinny body rose a heated blush to his cheeks, and he quickly looked down, unable to face him.

“Oh…” Atsumu heard the disappointment in his voice, the sheer regret he seemed to have. “I’m sorry, I kind of initiated that. No hard feelings?”

The silence was deafening.

God, all that Atsumu wanted was to apologize for was endorsing it, for ruining all they had together. He should have been the one to refuse, to deny the advances, because the echoes of _I love you_ are so loud, so forcing in his head.

How does he stay friends with Hinata after this?

“Did you mean what you said last night?”

“What?”

“When you said you loved me.” Atsumu’s gaze is piercing, telling of a thousand words, but it’s also scared and terrified of the answer. Hinata looks back at him, steady with flashes of uncertainty behind his looks.

“And if I did mean it?”

Atsumu pauses at this, too unsure if he’s ready to face the answer to that question. He just wanted to stay friends with Hinata, innocent, playful, trusting, and open friends. But this, this is too open, ready to destroy their friendship with a couple words.

Instead of facing the answer, he left, quickly changing, closing the door behind him, and heading towards the streets.

Atsumu’s an asshole, he’s fully aware of that. But he’s an even bigger asshole when you consider that he left his closest friend in bed, awaiting an answer that he never gave. He could always hide behind his terrified nature of confrontation, but what’s the point of friends if that’s all you ever do. It’s just that he never expected _this_ to happen. He never expected to sleep with his best friend.

At this point, he’s just a fucking idiot.

Now when he’s weaving through the streets of the college town, small enough for you to know all the places it holds but big enough so all of the places don’t know you, he’s considering all the possibilities of him just giving up and quitting college, moving to a big city like New York City and disappearing with a completely new band. He can’t believe he had been so stupid, so goddamn oblivious to his friend’s feelings that he slept with somebody that loved him, that he didn’t love back.

He really doesn’t know how to handle messy situations like this.

He’s too immersed in his self depreciation that he barely notices that he runs into a person. He stumbles back, ready to quickly apologize and run away like he seems to do these days, when a voice stops him.

“What the hell, watch where you’re going.”

It takes him a few seconds to process the input flowing to his brain, but shit, it’s him. Of all the times in the world to run into somebody you admire, now just had to be the time. Atsumu curses the universe for his insanely awful luck.

“I’m sorry, I just wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Well, look next time.” Sakusa’s voice is annoyed, poignant and ready to set the whole damn world on fire, and Atsumu sits, bathing in the fact that he's meeting him in real life, like the masochist he is. He has on a mask, but that doesn’t hide the glare that he’s being given right now. His long sleeve shirt is a hideous neon green, and it doesn’t go with the royal blue athletic pants he has on, but it’s charming in a way, knowing that he doesn’t have a shred of fashion sense. Everything about him is charming, and he looks like he’s a child, unaware of how people perceive him.

Sakusa looks at him wearingly, and turns around to leave, hand sanitizer dripped in his hands as he vigorously rubs it across his hands and wrists while he’s walking away.

“Sakusa Kiyoomi!” Atsumu calls, despite this day already being terrible and him just wanting to disappear. “Lead singer for the Arctic Monkeys and guitarist, 20 years old. You played in the downtown bar yesterday, and the week before.”

Sakusa comes barreling towards him, making various angry hand signals to shut up. When he’s at a comfortable distance to calmly chat, he hissed, “What do you want?”

“I want to get to know you,” replied Atsumu, bravery apparently repaired. He sent a smug grin to the horrified man before him, along with a “Come take a walk with me to the park.”

“And why would I want to do that?” Sakusa asked, patience worn all too thin to even try to endorse this smug bastard’s behavior, obvious from the way his face is flushed red and his eyes are narrowed.

Atsumu couldn't care less.

“Because I think you’ll like me.”

This is so reckless, and so teasing. What he’s doing and why he’s doing it is unknown to even him, but he’s doing it anyway, and Sakusa seems intrigued. When Atsumu walks away, he follows, and Atsumu purposefully walks slower so Sakusa can catch up.

The walk to the park is silent, as expected. Atsumu doesn’t speak, so Sakusa doesn't in return. But it's a comfortable silence, they don’t feel the need to fill it with worthless words.

Until Atsumu broke it, like the freaking dumbass he is.

“Do you want to play 20 questions?”

Sakusa scoffs, and asks, “Why would I do that?”

“I want to know more about you, and it seems like the only way you may open up…”

Atsumu is such a dork.

But Sakusa laughs, a whole, great laugh that is contagious and shakes the beauty back into Sakusa’s features. His eyes crinkle in all the right places, and it’s gorgeous. _Goddamn Sakusa, you’re perfect._ Atsumu silences the thought before he speaks it out loud.

Sakusa looks at him amusingly, and replies, “Sure. I’ll go first. Why did you ask me to the park?”

Atsumu seems reluctant to answer, unsure if he wants to reveal himself. After a few moments, he thinks, _ah, screw it_.

“I saw you at your last show, and I thought you were beautiful. Now, why do you always play at that bar?”

Atsumu’s answer leaves Sakusa blushing, and the question leaves him thinking. “Maybe because I like the crowd? They’re so energetic. Why were you at the bar?”

“I was there with my band, appreciating the music. Taking good notes, I must add.”

“That’s creepy.”

Atsumu laughed at Sakusa’s deadpanned expression. “Only if you make it creepy. What do you use as inspiration for your songs?”

“Various sources. What genre of music do you play?”

“Indie mostly. Why do you wear neon?”

“What? Does it not look good?”

“You look like a highlighter kid!”

“I do not!”

The rest of the afternoon is spent asking questions and a familiarity they’ve never felt with somebody else, ever. But that didn’t matter, and the amount of questions they asked the other was definitely more than 20, but they both let it slide.

They talked until the sun set along the trees, and the lights were starting to flicker on. They waved goodbye, and left with lingering feelings unanswered questions and premonitions of knowing that this was only the beginning.

Atsumu returned to the apartment that night with a grin on his face. He felt much better than he had the morning before, and was almost ready for the scene at home.

Key word: almost.

He was not expecting Hinata to be at the door, who saw him, and ran away to retreat into his room. Atsumu quickly kicked his shoes off and chased after him. He had no worries for the others, Bokuto and Oikawa, who must be out because no way in hell would Hinata allow himself to show that kind of weakness in front of them.

Hinata beat him, shutting and locking his door close. Atsumu knocks on the wood, asking for entrance, but it stays firmly shut. He slides on the floor, resting on the door.

He stays like that for a while, waiting and listening for even the faintest of noises that would prompt him to bust open the door and comfort Hinata and apologize for his awfulness. He waited while the minutes ticked by, 31 of them, until the redhead spoke.

“Atsumu?” He sounded so timid, it broke Atsumu to pieces that he had caused this.

Venturing into that question, he responded, “Yeah?”

“Do you hate me?”

Something in Atsumu broke, split in two and dusted it’s ashes along the chasms of his empty chest. _He_ initiated this, _he_ made Hinata think that he was hated, he was the one who massively screwed up, yet Hinata still thinks it’s himself that caused this. It’s so typical Hinata, but to be on the receiving end of such heartbreak, he couldn’t bear it.

“No, I don’t,” he responded. “I was just surprised.”'

Slowly the door opens, and Atsumu stands to face him. Hinata’s face is red, blotchy, swollen, and the sight of it makes Atsumu take a few steps forward and give him a hug, deep and comforting. He can feel the tears prickle the front of his shirt the longer they stay, when Atsumu whispers, “I’m sorry, for not being able to love you in return.”

They stay like that, in each other’s arms, for a long time.

The rest of the week was relatively mundane. Hinata and Atsumu were able to keep their friendship mostly the same, Oikawa was still as obnoxious as ever, and Bokuto was louder than ever, mostly around the topic of Akaashi. But the whole week, the rest of it, Atsumu spent daydreaming of when he would see Sakusa again.

**Sakusa**

The crowd is loud today, too loud. The thought of all the sweaty people in the small bar, the germs that are probably contaminating with all the surfaces, sends a shiver down Sakusa’s spine. The fear itself was enough for him to get another five pumps of hand sanitizer and lather his hands, wrists, elbows. Every germ MUST be purged.

Kuroo snickered behind him, but only continued to tune his guitar. Sakusa sent him a glare, only to return to his detox procedures. Sometimes he wonders why he even invited Kuroo into the band, based on how utterly infuriating he can be sometimes, but he reminds himself that this is only a small part of the whole, that the rest of him isn’t bad, and that he’s fun to play with.

Looking around, he sees Akaashi in the corner, listening to some music with his headphones on and his bass resting in his lap. He must be listening to some of their songs, because his fingers are ghosting the chords he’d play. A little farther back in the room is Yamaguchi, who is drumming out the beats with his fingers on his thigh. They’re all anticipating this, their last performance before they go on their first around America tour. This is the last chance of normalcy.

Sakusa reflects back onto the question that the man asked him a week ago, as to why they continued to play in this bar. Part of him wanted to give the truth, that he played there because it was the first bar they played at, but didn’t want to get too vulnerable. Who gets vulnerable in front of a person you barely know?

He thinks back to the man, how he can still clearly remember his mustard colored hair that was obviously bleached to look like that, his dark brown undercut, the rows and rows of silver and black piercings that lined his ear, even the small cut that skated through his eyebrow. Part of him thought that this man was attractive, that he might be seriously attracted to him. But he must be imagining things.

The microphone outside announces them, and at once they all rise and meet the cheering people. The lights give a dark glow, and the crowd is blurred. Perfect.

They plug in their various instruments, test the sounds, make sure all the equipment is working. Then they start to play.

Every time he’s on stage and playing, he feels so at home. It doesn’t matter about his misophobic tendencies, or his perversion to being in the limelight, because music, _music_ , it makes him feel alive.

He feels so alive.

Tonight, for some reason, feels so good, he feels at the top of his game. His notes are coming out the way he wants them, his fingers are flying, he’s in the zone. No matter the crowd, he just wants to ingest this moment alone, and relieve it for the years to come.

Finally, he’s brave enough to take a good look at the crowd, to peer through the dancing reds and purples, and seek out a familiar face.

He finds him. Atsumu. He’s _here_.

Sakusa finds some part of him that only wants to keep playing, playing better than he ever has in his life. He feels daring, not real. It’s so new, and he wants to keep this up.

Atsumu is dancing to the music, obviously drunk based on his stumbling. His face is covered by a gorgeous smile, and he’s swaying to the beats. God, does Sakusa want to play for him.

Suddenly, they lock eyes, and it’s intense, euphoric, lifting. Sakusa is on clouds, begging to be heard by more and more people. He is above everybody.

When the music ends and the night is high, he returns to the dressing room, grabs his phone and rushes out into the crowd. He’s cautious of others, and his brain is screaming that he’s going to get sick and be covered in germs and _so many bad fucking things can happen_ , but he doesn’t care. He ignores them for once.

He reaches for the man he wants, and grasps his wrist. He’s at the bar, next to a redhead who looks like he’s trying to drag his fan from the drinks, and turns around so they’re face to face.

Sakusa instinctively backs up, because it’s clear this man has no concept of personal space, but yet again, nobody in this bar is too keen on personal bubbles. In place of the space, he hands the blonde his phone.

“Put your number in my phone,” he demands, shoving it into his fingers. The other looks up at him inquisitive, unsure if this is the right move. Sakusa ushers him on, saying “I’m leaving on a tour for 3 months, and I would like to keep in contact with you.”

Atsumu slowly taps the numbers in his phone, each tap uncertain. But Sakusa doesn’t care, and when he’s done, he grabs the phone back and runs back to the dressing rooms.

He closes the doors, breathing hard and rapid, not believing the amount of courage he just had. He just asked him for his phone number, and he got it! Packing his guitar quickly, bidding his friends goodbye, except for Akaashi would must be talking with his new boyfriend, and runs home.

He chases up the stairs, looks for his number, and when he sees 505, he unlocks the door and starts his after concert cleaning routine.

Touring is exhausting, playing one to two shows a day is what seems like a thousand cities without a break, it’s a lot of work.

For it being their first tour, they are impressively well received. After their recent album, they were sponsored for an opportunity to tour like this, and some many more people know who they are then Sakusa first imagined. People want autographs, their merchandise keeps getting sold out, and every one of their shows are packed with people who occupy every seat and space on the floor. He guesses it’s the perks of doing tours after they get famous, but part of him still can’t believe it.

It all feels like a dream.

But what feels more like a dream is the conversations he has with Atsumu everyday. Every morning he wakes up to strings of texts from the night before that make him laugh, and every night he goes to bed later then normal just to talk to him. He also gives Sakusa motivation to play well, to perform at his very best. It’s all for him.

Part of Sakusa realizes that he’s beginning to love Atsumu. He knows the signs, he knows how he feels now about the man. However, part of him is still in denial, refusing to actually admit that he’s falling in love.

It’s just something about his smile, his humor, what he says when they’re alone. He’s not even that charming, or beautiful, or even that great of a person. But as the days go on, Sakusa starts to realize that Atsumu is more than just a friend to him.

He is the reason why he plays.

So when Atsumu calls him a week out of the end of their tour, Sakusa asks him to be the one to drive him to his apartment.

“What? Are you sure? Don’t you want to see your family?” Atsumu stammers out, the anxiety clear in his voice that crackles over the speakers.

“My family doesn’t live in town, and as far as I’m concerned, you’re the only other friend I can count on outside of the band.”

A small static is heard, until Atsumu finally says, “Sure, I’ll pick you up.”

“So, tell me about your recent concert.”

While Atsumu tells Sakusa about his recent record deal and jam packed concert in the same bar they met, Sakusa starts to let his mind run wild. Atsumu is going to pick him up, and he can’t wait to see him again.

Sakusa walks off the plane, hair whipping in the wind running on the tarmac. The fall wind bites, but he doesn’t mind the second he sees Atsumu waving for him in the pick up line for incoming passengers. He sits himself in Atsumu’s car, and together they ride off, soft music playing and Siri interrupting every few quarter miles to direct the driver.

Atsumu’s car isn’t even that bad. Sure, there are a few wrappers from food scattered along the floors, and the seats are a little old, but it seems to be fine. It could be worse.

While they’re traveling along the highway, Sakusa uses sanitizer on his hands and a germ killer lotion on his face, only the parts that were exposed. His mask had kept minimal contact, but he just wanted to be careful. Out of the corner of his eye, Atsumu sees the process, and asks, “Whoa, what’s the sanitizer for?”

“Planes are filthy,” Sakusa replies. “You never know what kind of germs are circulating around that place.”

“Are you a germaphobe?” Atsumu laughs a little, unaware of the circumstances and thinking he’s only making an innocent joke.

“Actually, I am. It's called mysophobia.”

An awkward silence ensues, unbearable and oddly less comforting than the previous silences they’ve had.

“Would you like to play 20 questions?” Sakusa asks.

Atsumu slowly smiles, and replies, “Sure.”

When they arrive at Sakusa’s place, he offers to have Atsumu come into his apartment.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I figured it be nice for us to hang out in person for once.”

Atsumu climbs out of the car, smiles, and says, “Lead the way.”

Sakusa whips down his door knob and lock with disinfectant wipes (because you never know who’s touched it), and opens it. His apartment is still as simple as ever, with the only clutter being the 3 guitars he has. Everything is still in pristine cleanliness, and he wants to keep it that way.

“Did you take a shower before you picked me up?” Sakusa asks, dead serious.

“Yeah,” Atsumu responds, suddenly super intimidated. Sakusa has never shown him his mysophobic side before, so he’s sure that this part is probably a little off putting for him.

“I’ll just go take a quick shower. Make sure to sanitize your hands before you touch anything.” With that, he left to shower.

**Atsumu**

Atsumu ponders what to do with Sakusa showering. He doesn’t want to touch anything, because the thought of even sanitizing himself with points of contact with Sakusa sent him on edge. Nothing is safe when he knows that Sakusa has touched, quite literally, everything. The last thing he wants to do is screw this whole thing up, and right now, there was a whole damn list of things miles long that he could do to set this man on a killing spree (not that he’s seen him get that angry before, but that’s how he imagines it would look). So instead, he stands in the corner, too awkward to do anything without direct permission from the king himself, and not doing anything to disturb the peace and borderline oppressive cleanliness here.

He is dancing a delicate line here after all.

He has no idea what he is going to say to Sakusa, and is clearly overthinking things that before seemed so easy, if not fundamental in friendships. His throat is also starting to get dry from all this anxiety, which is just another problem on the ever growing list, because dryness leads to thirst, which leads to water, which leads to touching a glass when he hasn’t even decontaminated. But what if Sakusa comes in at this moment, and his voice cracks all because he refused to do anything about these problems, and he embarrasses himself even more. Then part of him thinks this is so stupid, just get a damn glass of water, and a thought of _I have to stop overthinking things_.

But before the problem got too out of hand, Sakusa stepped into the clearing, hair wet and wearing nothing but jeans. Atsumu starts to sweat, gay panic mode astronomical and the peak of his worrying was topping the charts to unseen levels, because to him, Sakusa's chest is just as perfect as everything else.

It’s fair to say that Atsumu was out of control.

Sakusa glances at him, clearly a sweaty, anxious mess that needs to calm down, and smiles to himself before going to the cabinet and grabbing himself a glass of water. Filling it at the fridge, he turns back to Atsumu, and calmly asks, “Do you want any water? Or something else to drink?”

Atsumu only nods, and Sakusa grabs him a glass. In the meanwhile, Atsumu takes this chance as an opportunity to clean up his act and actually calm down, because he _needs_ to take a breather. When Sakusa turns around, he’s composed again, ready with his asshole personality and trashy comebacks that need serious work on his part. In some ways, his asshole nature is the best armor.

Sakusa hands him the glass, and their fingers touch. His confidence slips, and Sakusa mildly grimaces.

“I hope you washed your hands, or at least used hand sanitizer.”

“Nope,” Atsumu teases. The other immediately makes his move towards the sink, fiercely scrubbing in water that looks so hot that Atsumu would never willingly touch it. The tendrils of vapor were rising, and he cringed, thinking of how painful the temperature must be. But Sakusa didn’t seem to mind, so he pushed those thoughts away and playfully laughed.

“You need to learn to take personal hygiene seriously,” Sakusa utters from his lips. The venom was visibly dripping down his chin with the sentence, and Atsumu only laughed harder, gaining confidence the longer it lasted.

“I do, but you take personal hygiene a little too seriously.”

“It’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“Say good-bye to the skin that you’re burning off with that scalding water. Don’t you have pain receptors?”

“I do, you’re just sensitive.”

The more Atsumu and Sakusa banter, the more comfortable the house feels. It feels just like all the conversations they had over the phone, playful jokes and laughing and just, moments like these. It feels ordinary, and for some reason, this is more comfortable than he’s ever felt in his whole life, even more secure than with Hinata and his bandmates. He feels alive, just like when he plays for the masses.

Sakusa seems to be feeling it too, with him gradually leaving the sink and laughing. His curls bounce, his eyes crinkle, and his smile reveals his perfect teeth. He is _perfect_ , and something in Atsumu is just so prideful of that, because somewhere in his heart he knows, he’s going to be his.

When the joy wears, the two of them are close, close enough that if the both of them raised their hands before them, they would touch. So Atsumu reaches, beckoning the other to do the same.

**Sakusa**

Sakusa responds.

He knows this is an awful idea. This may be the worst idea that he’s had all day, and his mind is screaming why this is a terrible, terrible idea. This is one of those ideas that you know, deep in you, that you shouldn’t indulge in, because the repercussions are so drastically huge, at least in their mind. But he ignores it.

But it’s not as he expected.

When he touches Atsumu’s hand, he pulls away so quickly. The possibilities are endless, he could get sick, dirty, or worse. Who knows, but to Sakusa, the odds don’t justify the means.

“I have to wash my hands.”

“Wait-” Atsumu grabs for him, and Sakusa avoids the gesture. The blonde is so desperate, and it shows. It kills him inside, because he wants to touch him. In so many ways does he hate himself for the thoughts he houses. He wants, just as dearly as Atsumu does, to touch him, to hold hands, and God, maybe even kiss in the ways couples do to show their passion. But no, he can’t do that. Not yet.

But he can do this one thing.

“Take a shower, scrub yourself thoroughly. I’ll lay out new clothes, some of mine, and then, only then can you hold my hand. Got it?”

Atsumu practically races to the bathroom, and Sakusa chuckles under his breath. But once he’s gone and the water begins to run and he’s all alone, he goes to find clothes to rid himself of the anxiety he’s beginning to feel. It’s been years since he’s touched somebody willingly, and even more since he did it with somebody he was romantically interested in. Sure, touch is unavoidable, but when it’s unwanted, it doesn’t count.

Which is why this is such a big deal.

He chooses a black lounge shirt that he knows is clean because he grabbed it straight out the washing machine and a pair of black skinny ripped jeans from his drawers. He paid heed to the comments he remembered Atsumu giving him when they first met, about him looking like a highlighter, and tried to go for the non yellow items of clothing he had, which were pretty much only black. He gently placed the items outside the door, where he could Atsumu mutter something behind the door that he couldn’t decipher because of the beating shower water and sat himself down on the couch in the living room.

The anxiety was getting to him, that part was certain. His leg was jiggling about, and he could feel his breaths slowly starting to constrict, starting to become suffocating. Nothing about this was accidental. It was all on purpose, and for some reason, the thought of purposefully touching somebody caused more fear than the thought of running into somebody on the street. It was of his own accord, and that is what scared him more.

So while the shower ran, and Atsumu muttered, Sakusa thought, for a long while, about all the things that could go horribly wrong.

When Atsumu did finally appear, shiny and wet, Sakusa was a mess. When he looked up, his heart almost seized all together, the terror running through his veins sealing his fate. But he took a deep breath, and told himself that he could, in fact, complete this task.

Atsumu sunk into the cushions besides him, and they nervously glanced at each other, waiting for the first move.

It took ages before Sakusa made it.

He stretched his hand out before him, anticipating Atsumu’s touch. And when he returned it, he felt so whole.

To everyone else in the world, holding hands is nothing. It takes nothing for them to make that effort, and it doesn’t invoke the same fear it does in Sakusa. But when they touched each other, Sakusa felt so whole, like he had missed something for his whole life and Atsumu was the piece that fit.

So they sat together, until Atsumu left an hour later, basking in the smell of Sakusa and Sakusa shaking from the courage of before.

**Atsumu**

He bursts through the door of the apartment, grins over his face, practically skipping on his heels. Hinata looks at him, questions practically hanging in mid air at Atsumu’s burst through the door. Oikawa and Bokuto are next, and they are just as confused. But Atsumu just says, “He held my hand!”

Oikawa rolls his eyes, not believing the childishness of him. To him, hands are hardly anything. Now something new in bed, that’s a different story.

Bokuto is supportive. He gives him a hug, one which Atsumu gladly returns, and he can tell, all with their physical contact, that he means the best for him.

Hinata is shy to hug him as well. But Atsumu picks up his small delicate frame and twirls him around, too happy to care about the repercussions. This is his day, and he deserves to celebrate.

The interaction doesn’t last long though, and he leaves to go enjoy his accomplishment in private. Dropping himself down on the bed, he looks up at the ceiling, smiling like an idiot. His heart feels like it’s going to break out of his damn chest, but he doesn’t care. He’s _happy_ , truly happy, for the first time in a while, and that makes him feel like he can conquer the world.

When his breathing finally calms, he curls up, snuggling himself into Sakusa’s clothes. He smells like lemons, disinfectant, and sunshine. Something about it is so inherently comforting, so comfortable, Atsumu couldn’t care about anything else in the world except for what he’s dressed in. Nestled in the fabric with the scent and a hope in his heart, he sleeps with dreams of what happens next among the stars who are the only ones that know what will come for him.

* * *

Sakusa lay in his arms, nestled and warm against Atsumu’s chest, while the sun streamed through the windows with the morning light, when Atsumu woke up. It had been two years since that day, the day where they had touched each other for the first time. It took them 2 months afterward to date officially and 5 to kiss, but every small step was perfect, precise and carefully planned. To Atsumu, who was a whirling ball of emotion that preferred to never plan anything in his life, ever, it was strangely perfect, because it made Sakusa feel good. One month after that they moved in together, and they quickly established themselves a new pattern. Somedays Atsumu was alone, to accommodate the growing amount of tours that Sakusa had and the new gigs at bars in cities hours away. Some days Sakusa was alone, because Atsumu’s band had now grown enormously popular to the point where he was not only waiting for Sakusa to return from his tours, but from his own as well. They were in tandem, living as one, with apartment 505 as their home.

That’s why when Atsumu drifted, lost in his thoughts all while twirling a strand of Sakusa’s hair through his fingers, the other could tell.

“What’s the matter Atsumu?” He asked, calming. Atsumu could feel the vibrations of his chest through his skin, and it _always_ gave him shivers.

“Do you remember when you were scared to touch me?”

“Don’t remind me. I was a different person then."

“Oh come on, you were so cute back then!”

To that, Sakusa smacked his stomach lightly, and Atsumu laughed, full and careless of nothing else. This, this was everything he was missing before he met him, and now he has it, all to himself.

But when the laughter falls, Atsumu thinks, and thinks hard. He tries to picture in his mind what he wants to articulate, because the thought is so hard to actually make it come out of his mouth. He’s scared, even if he doesn’t want to be. So instead of wallowing in it, he just comes out and says it.

“I want you to meet my parents.”

Sakusa looks up, surprised. Atsumu expects as much, really. He told the other of all the stories, the times and reasons why he hasn’t visited them more than once a year, of the refusal to accept their son’s sexuality. He had come out as bisexual to them before college, and after that, never mentioned it again. It caused too much strife for the rare family reunions they had. So it was always an unspoken vow between them that Atsumu would be the one to decide when they meet them, but still, it makes him nervous.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Sakusa’s voice is laced with worry, and his concern is evident. But Atsumu knows, he has to do this.

“I’m positive.”

“When do you want to go see them?”

“They’re always home on Sundays at 4:00, before dinner. Let’s be there by then.”

“Sounds good.”

They sit in silence, absorbing the time they have together like it’s their last.

**Sakusa**

Atsumu in the car is nerve wracking, and it’s making Sakusa so nervous that he’s afraid he'll crash. His knee is jiggling up and down non stop, his fingers are tapping out a non coherent rhythm, and he’s literally talking at the pace of the race car pushing for the gold. Sakusa can hear and understand snippets of this monologue, mostly about stuff he’s planning on doing with new songs and melodies, but he can’t pay attention to that and the road.

Finally, it gets to Sakusa. “Atsumu, can you calm down? I can’t pay attention to your incessant rambling and driving at the same time.”

“Oh, sorry,” Atsumu replies, and falls silent.

At first, Sakusa is a fan of this quiet. He’s terrified of meeting Atsumu’s parents, and it gives him a minute to recollect his thoughts and imagine through a couple possible scenarios where everything can go wrong. But once his doomsday thinking is over with him, the quiet is stifling, and it scares Sakusa even more. So he ventures into the silence.

“Do you want to play 20 questions?”

Atsumu smiles at him, knowingly.

“Do I ever.”

They pull into the Miya’s driveway, in higher spirits than when they left the house. Meaningless fun questions seem to do that to them, the powers it held are so strange but so comforting.

Now they face a challenge, one that Sakusa is informed of and throughly terrified, is back to shitting his pants over Atsumu’s quietness of what might truly happen (because the neither of them really know what's going to happen).

Sending one last squeeze of his hand to Atsumu, he gets out of the car, smile on his face and a grim determination in his heart.

This could be amazing, or could go terribly wrong. 

Probably the latter.

Atsumu rings the doorbell (because of course Sakusa refuses to touch that thing in a million years), stands back and waits. The pattering of steps takes a while, but they’re slow, precise. Slowly, they open the door, and immediately the warm faces turn cold.

Sakusa has a bad feeling about this.

Atsumu makes no motion to go inside the house, and simply says, “Hi Mom, hi Dad.”

The older woman makes no motion to let them inside the house, and only replies, “Who is this?”

“This is my boyfriend, Sakusa Kiyoomi. He’s a guitarist and a singer in a really famous band. We’ve been together for 2 years.” The dad looked slightly taken aback by this, but made no definitive motion to come near him.

“Atsumu, I thought we told you to not come home without fixing this.”

“I thought that you’d like to know how your son is doing after a couple years,” Atsumu stutters, his posture growing reclusive by the second and his one hopeful, nervous eyes were growing dim.

“You’re a freak, and I want nothing to do with a son of Satan.”

Sakusa immediately snaps, scrambling towards the oldest Miya, blood hot with rage. Atsumu grabs a hold of him, strong and sturdy, but Sakusa is fighting back, trying to get a hand on the man. “Take that back, you take those fucking words out of your mouth and throw them in the ditch!”

“Stop, please,” Atsumu pleads, hugging Sakusa close to him. “Omi, stop.”

“You can’t even accept your own son, I guess you all just kissed unconditional love goodbye. It’s a wonder Atsumu turned out to be as amazing as he is, because you are assholes that don’t even deserve him.”

Atsumu starts to cry. His arms loosen around Sakusa, whose muscles still when the first drops fall on his back. Looking back, they lock eyes, and Sakusa can see the despair among the tears in his eyes. It’s devastating, seeing the one you love in so much excruciating pain. He turns once again to Atsumu’s parents, straightens, and looks the father in the eye.

“I love your son, and I know that for the rest of my days, together or not, I will never stop wishing that he will never see you again, because he deserves more than a shitty father who can’t look him in the eyes because of who he loves.”

Atsumu hugs Sakusa, and they walk to the car, hand in hand. Behind him, he can hear the quiet cries of the mother, and thinks to himself, _maybe I messed up this family_.

Sakusa pulls over into an abandoned parking lot, dark from the night’s hold on the moon and no stars above them. He looks at Atsumu, who’s curled up in the passenger seat and staring out the window. He slips his hand into Atsumu’s, laying on his lap, and gives him a tiny squeeze. Atsumu returns the action, weakly, and asks in the smallest voice Sakusa has ever heard in the two years they’ve been together, “Do you think they will ever love me?”

Sakusa thinks for a while, and responds. “I don’t know.”

The air becomes flooded with the sound of Atsumu’s silent tears, and it physically hurts Sakusa. He can’t bear to hear it, the pain that Atsumu has been holding for so long. He hates it, despises it, but lets Atsumu cry.

Sakusa gently opens the door, looking in on the room. Atsumu lies on his bed, submersed in the covers, staring out at all the open world that it has to offer him. But his eyes, so glassy that they reflect the tears that cease to fall, are so painful to look at.

It’s obvious that he’s affected, but once he catches sight of Sakusa, he smiles, sits up, and tries to brush out his hair. Sakusa couldn’t help but grimace. He wanted for Atsumu to be comfortable enough to show that weakness, to allow him to be vulnerable, that this is a safe place for him.

He looks awful, in a depressed, bedridden, sick way. His hair even looks dull, the bleach losing its flavor among the dark brown of his undercut. The baggy eyes, the shadows under them, they tell the stories of the weight he’s carrying, ever present and always there. The trauma he holds is displayed all over his face, and he’s still trying desperately to fix himself up for Sakusa.

He hides behind them, as well as his words, all of which are warm and comfortable, soft and encompassing, and it was everything to get lost in. The familiarity of it, the perfect mask he shows.

It’s all a show for Sakusa.

That’s why he struggles to confront the issue that lies bare before him. He knows, in his head, those arms and words are drowning in more than the shallow emotions they carry, but the deep sorrow that lay beneath it.

He’s letting himself waste away, slipping under the comforting waters that carried him and drowning. He is allowing himself to fall, become less than in all meanings of the ways you could, and conform. He is shattering, his beauty and courage encumbering his soul, pulling and tearing his mind to pieces, dust particles combining into too many substances to call itself its own. It is so wrong, so fucking wrong, to see somebody so bright fall, crash and burn like super novas.

“Atsumu, are you ok?” Sakusa’s voice comes out more timid than he means, and he curses himself for allowing that to show.

“I’m fine, really.” Atsumu sends another smile, and gets up off the mattress, walking towards the kitchen.

Sakusa moves from the doorway to let Atsumu through, and watches his back walk away. He watches the slouch, the back that had always held him upright and proud now crumbled in his own worthlessness, and he couldn’t take it anymore.

“For fuck’s sake, you are letting yourself waste away. You are letting yourself live in ways you’d rather not, and you’re happy about it! Realize, please, because I can’t watch you go through this. It’s too painful.”

Atsumu turns around, the anger on his face apparent and blazing hot. “It’s too painful for you, fucking hell, it’s atrociously painful for me! You have no right, no fucking right to tell me what I am and what I am not. Not a shred.”

“You’re living under a lie! Your own parents don’t accept you, and after getting rejected you are smiling like nothing’s happened. Atsumu, please, you’re getting hurt and not healing.”

“I don’t give a damn what you think! You act all high and mighty because you’re the one who’s famous and got a supportive family, but you are suffering all the same. You have no idea how hard it’s been to watch you struggle to get through the simplest tasks, and I can’t even help! Do you even understand people anymore?”

Sakusa shuts up, feeling the tears pool. He can’t argue, not like this. Slowly, he retreats to his studio, shuts the door, and sinks to the floor.

 _I’m the one who's causing you pain_ , Sakusa wants to say, as he curls into a ball and cries.

When the night falls, and a week after the incident passed, Sakusa lies awake.

Atsumu sleeps soundly next to him, unaware of his partner’s restlessness, peaceful for the first time in a while.

Sakusa regrets everything.

Getting attached, getting together, every fucking thing they’ve ever done.

It has nothing to do with Atsumu, because it’s apparent to himself and to Atsumu that he’s hopelessly in love with the other. It’s the past week, the depressed way that Atsumu has moved and the way he has seemed to lose all the life in him, that he regrets.

He regrets being a part of Atsumu’s life. With him being bi, Atsumu could have found a gorgeous girl, gotten engaged to her at this point, and been together with his family. He could be a son, a real son to his parents without them being ashamed, he could be living the life that he should be living. But he’s not, because of Sakusa.

That shreds him up when he thinks of this, as he lays in their apartment that Atsumu moved into, what they call their home now. He wants every part of him to be with Atsumu, to live his life free and with no restraints and to find new reasons to love him everyday like they used to.

But there’s a part of him that has been thinking that, maybe it’s better if he weren’t around. He’d give Atsumu time to fix his “mistakes”, and actually be a family with those he loves. Tonight, he thinks seriously about this possibility.

He doesn’t want Atsumu to be hurt.

He knows it’s going to hurt in the moment, but it’ll get better with time, he’s sure. The only thing that matters is that Atsumu will be better for this, more complete.

It’s the only feeling, the feeling of knowing that Atsumu will be better off, that fuels him to make a final decision.

**Atsumu**

The concert that night had been at a huge club, energetic and lively enough to get the adrenaline pumping, yet the walk to their apartment was quiet, strangely so. Sakusa was normally not the talkative type, and it was almost always Atsumu that would prompt the conversations, but this was different.

This was tense.

Atsumu was unsure how to counter the muffled thoughts that were blocked by his lips, and the words that did fall out of his mouth went entirely unheard. This was not Sakusa, so wrapped in his own world that he forgot his surroundings and was completely caught in his mind. He was normally too enveloped in his environment, so concerned of the touching and his proximity to others that there was never a moment where he would ever catch himself not paying attention, because that would ruin his routine, his perfectly clean life.

This was too out of character.

As the streets passed, the blocks carried on one by one, the people passed, Sakusa stayed silent, never bothering to lift his head at the brush of a shoulder or shudder with the sound of a sneeze.

Yes, definitely weird.

When they both reached the front door of the apartment, Sakusa fumbled with the keys, dropping them on the doormat. Casually, he picked them up, found the right key, calmly unlocked it, and slid in.

Atsumu was perturbed, not just by the silence on the walk or the blankness in his stare, but the fact that Sakusa had picked up the fallen keys with such ease and was now walking over to his bedroom without making a beeline for the shower after a night of playing and being exposed to the disgusting reality of people who were covered in the organisms he feared, it was all too strange. It was too strange to see him so out of his head, so detached that he forgot everything he had stood for throughout the duration of his misophobic years. This was all too unlike Sakusa to be just another normal weekend night.

Atsumu followed Sakusa to the bedroom, where the latter sunk into the corner of the bed, elbows resting on his knees and head lolling. Atsumu could only hope, pray even, that this was because of the late nights, the constant concerts that drew the energy from Sakusa, that drained him. But his thoughts only told him that he was being immature, and that this was not the fatigue that was wearing him.

The seconds that lagged were stifling, and the calm demeanor he wore became corroded, diluted with worry.

Sakusa looked so tired, so worn. And none of the preparation from the odd events from earlier prepared Atsumu for the only words he uttered, so painful Atsumu could feel his heart throb and twist.

“Let’s break up.”

The rain started falling, drip drops turned to thunder all in the space that they stood. It felt like an entirety before either of them wanted to speak their mind, not feeling brave enough to confront the obvious rift that tore between them with three simple words. They seemed so strong, so inordinate, so immeasurable that the number of stars in the sky could never amount to the way they loved each other. But now, they were fragile, so frail that the simple harsh words of Atsumu’s parents prompted an action they could never take back. Sakusa would leave, pursue his career, and Atsumu would be stuck here, confined to the same city with the same people, unable to leave and change and grow into somebody he wanted to be.

“Omi…” Atsumu started, struggling to find the right words to say. Is there ever a way to tell somebody to not leave? “Please, don’t do this.”

“Do what?”

“Push me away! I can handle whatever life gives to me, but this, Omi-”

“Miya-san, just leave.”

Of all the things to hurt Miya Atsumu, which was a lot of things, the most consuming was the way Sakusa said his last name. The way he said it was so tedious, laying on the boundary between the break and the calm, and he was trying so hard to keep his crumpled composure. Atsumu could just tell, could just hear it in his voice, cracking at “leave.” He couldn’t just follow that direction, just leave, not like this.

“Omi-”

“I SAID LEAVE!” Sakusa screamed, finally getting up, and looking him in the eye. It was painful, it was so obviously painful, to hear what he had to say in the end. Atsumu thought that they would be forever, that they would never wander. But he was wrong.

Conceding, he gently padded out of the bedroom, slid on his shoes, and disappeared in the dark, letting the lonely stars guide him.

* * *

The wind blew through Atsumu’s hair as his car raced along the seaside highway, the salty spray enveloping his sense and filling him with a euphoria he’d only felt months ago. It had taken him so long to forget, to refuse to remember every treacherous moment of the day he lost his everything. The radio pounded, bass thumping near his feet, with songs of his past, of him.

He still plays music, with all the same boys in college. They've gotten massively popular, but it's still painful. The more he plays, the more he thinks of the songs he played with him in their 2 years together. This, this is what he wishes to forget. 

Atsumu never forgets.

The sun is so high in the cloud, these perfect shards of cotton stretched thin along the deep blue, and everything was so open, so accepting of him it was willing to spend the day trying to not swallow him whole.

For the first time in a long time, he was grounded.

The grass swayed, and as he chased the end of the asphalt, divided by the yellow lines that begged him to not cross on today of all days, he felt so free. So independent of his mind’s small betrayals, and his past’s gripping will, he drank it with the vigor of the spirits he drowned himself in nights ago.

At the end of the song, the words that poured his soul to the brim with inescapable feelings of freedom fell away, the beat growing slow and quiet with the passing seconds. Expecting the excited guitars and the pounding drums, accompanied by the thudding bass and the synthetics of a keyboard, his mind doesn't pause to move to the next possibility, the next material thing to sink into and forget his worries.

But his mind was disappointed by the well placed chords that played next, the sober mood and the organ like sounds that echoed into the empty road that spread before him.

Then he sang, in the familiar melodic voice that Atsumu dedicated his days to remembering. He could just picture the movements of his mouth, the creases in his forehead, the pain in his voice paired with the slight flashed of emotion that always gave his true intentions away.

When Sakusa uttered the words, “I crumble completely when you cry,” that was it. Atsumu’s spine shuddered, and tears pooled, blurring the details of the road so it looked as foggy and messily painted as his emotions. Slightly pulling towards the lip of the curb, he cried, deep wrenching sobs that he had tried so hard to bury. All of the pain and grief he worked to suppress bubbled up, burning its way through his veins.

But he didn’t care.

All he could think was of the words that Sakusa had used, words he said only in the privacy of their spare intimate moments, and he knew.

_He still loves me._

**Author's Note:**

> this was... interesting to write. i love the song 505, and when i read a tweet about sakuatsu and 505, and manipulated the tweet so the story behind 505 would be sakuatsu's break up story. i really hope that i executed this correctly, and that you guys enjoyed it as much as i wanted you guys to enjoy this. 
> 
> thank you for reading :)


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